Heaven Sent the Wrong One

by VJ Dunraven

  Alexandra was still mulling over her troubles when their carriage approached Waterford House.

  "Oh my," Polly exclaimed, craning her neck towards the driveway.

  Alexandra turned her gaze in that direction. The road was practically packed with carriages—an alarming number of them, with swarms of well-dressed guests alighting from their conveyances and flocking to the entrance of Waterford House.

  A rush of panic gripped Alexandra. Surely—she had not misunderstood Jeremy when he said the affair was exclusively for close family only? Her whole body went cold and her hands dampened. She opened the window to call her driver and have him turn the carriage around, but it was no use—several other coaches were now blocking them from the sides, to the front and back. Alexandra quelled the sudden urge to bolt. Dear God, but she was not ready for this—she could not hold her head high in front of the ton—not yet—not so soon after that incident at the soiree.

  The carriage lumbered forward and before long, a footman dressed in Waterford livery opened the door. Alexandra accepted the hand he extended for assistance. Polly bade her goodbye. Her knees were shaking as she climbed the steps to the entrance. She could feel the eyes on her and overhear snippets of hushed conversations. Alexandra drew what little confidence she had left and forced a smile on her face, nodding at familiar faces here and there, ignoring the curious stares and whispers.

  "Welcome back, Your Grace." Jeremy's butler, Barton, took her shawl as she reached the threshold.

  "Thank you, Barton." Alexandra glanced around. "Are Lord and Lady Waterford receiving upstairs?" She turned her gaze at the crush going up the curving marble staircase that led to the ballroom.

  "His lordship and ladyship have decided to forego the reception line tonight for the sake of convenience." Barton followed her gaze, then bowed his farewell to attend to the other guests.

  Alexandra moved towards the stairs. The Waterfords had done the right thing in foregoing the reception line. It would take hours to greet everyone—the entire ton must have shown up to attend the party in her honor—though for the life of her, she could not fathom why.

  Finally, after the slow progress up the steps, Alexandra reached the wide landing overlooking the magnificent ballroom below. Like most great houses, the marble platform was designed to provide guests with a grand entrance. A flight of steps spread downwards into the ballroom in a wide arc, allowing one to parade in his or her attire and get a good view of the opulent interior.

  Alexandra's eyes widened at the extravagant decor. Each enormous pillar on the four corners of the hall was decorated to the hilt with white roses. Every arched glass door along the side walls that opened to the veranda outside was draped with yards of delicate silk, swags of white roses, and crystals that caught the light from the brilliant chandeliers above. At the opposite end, a full orchestra was playing a popular symphony to the delight of an enchanted audience.

  Good Lord, Alexandra swallowed. Everything was so lavish. Surely, all this could not be for her. Jeremy and Cassie must be celebrating something else aside from her venture back into society.

  She swept her gaze about the crowded ballroom. Was Allayne here? Where in heaven's name were the Waterfords? How would she ever find anyone in this madhouse?

  "Ah, there you are, my dear." Alexandra turned to see her father, the Earl of Weston, walking towards her.

  "Papa! What are you doing here?" she exclaimed, meeting him halfway. Jeremy must have been very persuasive in his invitation for the Earl to show up. Nothing could keep her Papa away from his horses. He loved the country and only the lure of a trip to Tattersall's could make him take the journey from Oxfordshire to the city.

  "Ah, well, I thought it would do me some good to get some stale city air once in a while." He kissed her on the cheek and placed her hand on his arm.

  "Did Jeremy promise to take you to Tattersalls?" She glanced sideways at him as they made their way down the winding stair steps.

  "Well, that too." Her Papa gave her an approving smile. "You look very lovely tonight, my dear."

  "Thank you, Papa, and thank you for sending me this exquisite gown."

  "Yes—well, I thought you might want something fancy to wear tonight. Your Mama would have been so proud to see how beautiful you've grown," he grinned, yet a trace of sadness shimmered in his eyes.

  Alexandra squeezed his arm and beamed at him. Her Papa never talked much about her Mama and she suspected that he still had not gotten over his loss. A worried frown creased her brow. He seemed pensive—overly sentimental tonight. She sincerely hoped he was not sliding into melancholia again, like the way he had done, for years after her mother died.

  The music from the orchestra ceased and a chime sounded to summon the guests' attention. All heads turned to the direction of the podium. Alexandra saw Viscountess Carlyle go up the short flight of steps with a wave of an elegant hand.

  The noise in the ballroom subsided and the crowd pressed nearer towards the stage.

  "Come." Her Papa tugged at her hand, leading her as close to the front as the space would comfortably permit.

  Alexandra disguised her anxiety. Truly—she hoped this was not Allayne’s mother's idea of welcoming her back into society. The last thing she needed was for her to have to go up onto the podium and see the censure in everyone's eyes.

  "Good evening, everyone!" For a lady with such a petite stature, the Viscountess propelled her voice clearly over the din of chatter across the room. "Thank you for joining us. Tonight, we are celebrating a very special occasion—"

  Alexandra squeezed her eyes shut. God help her, but here comes the part where Lady Carlyle would call her name—…

  "—on behalf of my son, Allayne Cassius Carlyle."

  The Viscountess' words penetrated Alexandra's restless introspection. Her eyes flew open. On behalf of—of—did she hear the Viscountess correctly? Was she at the wrong gathering? She could swear—today was the day written in the invitation for the party that was supposedly be for her!

  "As you all know," Lady Carlyle continued, "my son is a highly eligible bachelor. But tonight, he wishes to announce that he has chosen a bride."

  Murmuring emanated from the crowd.

  Alexandra's heart sank. He had decided to go ahead with his engagement to Miss Ellery, after all. And she—by some cruel twist of fate—did misread the invitation and had mistakenly attended his betrothal announcement instead. She should be grateful at the turn of events for this could only mean one thing. Allayne had withdrawn his offer for her hand. And with that, came the possibility that he might be amenable to some kind of discreet arrangement regarding Gabriel. He must have woken up one morning and wondered what in God's name he had been doing—pursuing a widow with morals low enough to conceal his son from him, when he had the world at his feet and a beautiful heiress to someday become his Viscountess. This was what she had wanted, wasn't it? For him to leave her and Gabriel alone. For her life to revert back to the way it had been. She should be happy with this development.

  But of course, she was happy.

  Tears welled in her eyes. Her gut clenched in knots. She wanted to throw up.

  "Thank you, Mama," Allayne's baritone voice brought Alexandra back to the matter at hand. She watched him approach his Mother with that confident, easy, long-legged gait. He kissed his mother's cheek, before turning those gorgeous green eyes at the avid, awaiting guests.

  A collective sigh gushed from the ladies. The butterflies that fluttered in Alexandra's belly echoed their sentiment. He was achingly handsome, with a physique so solid and powerful that literally implied his prowess in bed. His wind-blown, honey-blond hair was trimmed to his shoulders, giving him an air of ruggedness—something devilish, untamed—a fallen angel, or a wicked pirate. She caught her breath at the remembrance of her first impression of him, on that wonderful spring day in Bath.

  "Is the lucky lady present amongst the guests?" The Viscountess asked.

  The ladies shoved their way to the front.


  He surveyed the audience from one end of the room to the other.

  Alexandra quickly bent her knees and scooted behind her Papa. He was going to see her—easily, with her statuesque height—and she must not let him. She did not want him to think, to witness—how much this was slowly killing her.

  "Yes, she is," Allayne answered, and Alexandra saw that his gaze had gone past where she stood with her Papa. She blew out a breath in relief—immediately followed by a fresh wave of nausea. He was about to announce his intended—and she was about to lose him forever. At the thought of all hope between them gone, a heaviness fell on her chest. Sudden lightheadedness assailed her. Her legs wobbled and her whole body went cold.

  "And who might this lady be?" The Viscountess questioned.

  A slow smile rose on Allayne's lips.

  Alexandra clung to her father's arm for support. Oh, she knew what those lips felt like—firm and supple, teasing and cajoling, leaving a trail of fire on every inch of her skin. She could taste them now in her mouth, sweet and ardent, tinged with strawberries and champagne—and the unique flavor that was only his. And then, as if to taunt her some more, dangle an unattainable lure, and punish her with the weapons he knew would defeat her by a windfall—his dimples winked. Deepened.

  The sight of those endearing indentations on his cheeks, her favorite things to kiss that would soon be hers no longer—made Alexandra want to weep.

  In contrast to her breaking heart, the excitement, muffled tittering and shoving, escalated among the ladies. He was an excellent catch. They all wanted him. And he was about to pick one of them.

  She couldn't endure it. She would die on the spot.

  But then he turned—walked down the steps with purposeful strides—towards her.

  Alexandra froze—pinned into place by those emerald eyes. Was he really looking at her—heading towards her? Or was Miss Ellery standing somewhere nearby? She glanced to the left and to the right. Miss Ellery was nowhere in sight. Perhaps ... perhaps he had another lady in mind?

  Yes. That must be it.

  The crowd parted as Allayne drew nearer.

  Alexandra made an attempt to move backwards and squeeze into the throng.

  But the people behind her pushed forward to gawk.

  Her Papa held her hand firmly on his arm.

  She was cornered. There was no other way to escape. He was going to see her. He was going to—Dear God—

  The few people ahead of them moved aside. She felt her Papa's arm slip away from her hand.

  And then, he was standing before her. Gazing at her. Tall, dashing and broad shouldered, filling her senses with his clean, familiar scent, making her heart tumble in her chest until she couldn't think, couldn't breathe, without drowning in the warmth of his presence.

  He bestowed upon her, that dazzling dimpled smile.

  Her heart melted. Her knees weakened. He did that on purpose—the cad! He knew the effect that smile had on her. She bit her trembling lip.

  He took her hand in his—and knelt on one knee.

  Alexandra gasped.

  Shocked whispers traveled around the hall.

  "A-Allayne—what—" Tears sprang in her eyes and she covered her mouth with the palm of a quivering hand, unable to summon her voice any longer.

  "Your Grace—" he regarded her intently, holding her gaze to his, caressing her knuckles in a mesmerizing rhythm with his thumb. "There is nothing I can offer you that you don't already have. I may have wealth, vast assets and land, but they are nothing compared to the grandeur of a Dukedom. I may lavish you with gifts and jewels, but they would pale next to the ducal heirlooms. My residences are splendid, but none as magnificent as the Duke's country seat. I don't even have a title to speak of—yet—and if you marry me, you will lose the prestigious rank of a Duchess." He paused. Waited. Searched her face.

  She knew he was fortifying himself for rejection. She could see it all—his apprehension, his emotions, his naked, vulnerable heart—shining in those beautiful, beautiful eyes of his. Lifting her hand, she quelled the hot rush of tears in her lids and touched his cheek. A gentle reassurance.

  "But, if you marry me—" his eyes glittered and a muscle twitched on his cheek. "in spite of the disadvantage of losing your rank, in spite of my inadequate position as a mere commoner,—if you marry me—I promise you, Alexandra, I will love you—and Gabriel—forever. I will cherish and protect you and our children, with all of my strength, and all of my heart. I might not have anything to offer that money can buy to surpass what you already have, but I can offer you my name, my life and my love. To live the rest of your days as my lover and friend; the owner of my heart and soul, the center of my existence—" He caught her hand and pressed the delicate skin of her pulse to his lips as he gazed at her with imploring eyes. "Will you marry me and be my wife, please—my love?"

  A chorus of sighs flowed from the ladies in the room.

  Alexandra's throat constricted. How could one refuse? But, she had to know. She needed to hear it from him so she could rest her fears. "A-and Gabriel?" Her chin trembled. She need not say more. He knew what she meant.

  "Gabriel—" he twined his fingers with hers, tightened his grip, his expression softening with love and tenderness as he spoke, "—has a bright future as the Eighth Duke of Redfellow."

  The burden she had carried, dislodged from her shoulders the moment she heard his words. Tears blurred her eyes. Her spirits soared and touched the clouds. "Oh, Allayne—" she choked on a sob, "I love you—I never stopped loving you. I would marry you, even if you were a penniless valet."

  He surged to his feet with a laugh, picked her up, and twirled her around, then kissed her—boldly—with all the passion of a man long deprived of his woman—in full view of everyone.

  From the recesses of Alexandra's mind as she floated in her own little dreamland of fairy tales and happy endings, she heard the orchestra play the Wedding March amidst the whistles and clapping from their enthralled audience. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her Papa approaching with a wide grin and the Viscountess swoon in her husband's arms.

  Someone tugged on her sleeve. She reluctantly pulled away from Allayne's kiss to find Diana, the beautiful daughter of the Duke of Grandstone, handing her a bouquet of white roses.

  "I'll see you at the altar," Allayne whispered with another gentle kiss.

  "The altar?" Alexandra looked past him and saw that the podium had been furnished with a table. A man wearing the attire of a Vicar stood with a book in his hand. He was flanked by the Duke of Grandstone and Jeremy on one side, and Cassie and the Duchess of Grandstone on the other.

  "I'm not waiting another minute to marry you," Allayne grinned at her stupefied expression. "My mother had me at my wit's end for making me wait this long as it was. She said that if we're going to create a grand scandal, we might as well have a grand wedding—and insisted on giving her a month, at least, to put everything together."

  "Y-you knew all along that I'd agree to marry you?" She placed her hands on her hips.

  "How could you resist?" He gave her another dose of that dazzling, dimpled smile and a swift kiss on the cheek, before he strode off to take his place at the podium.

  She scowled at his retreating back. He was right. How could she resist? The blackguard knew from the start that she couldn't. And here she was, thinking, that—that, had been the most romantic proposal she'd ever seen. Humph! She should have known that the arrogant, impertinent man never changed his stripes. She ought to smash a pie on his very irresistible, very handsome face.

  "Are you ready, my dear?" Her Papa laid her hand on his arm just as her gaze wandered to the array of cakes and pastries on the refreshment table.

  She narrowed her eyes at her Papa. "You are an accomplice, aren't you? That's why you're here—and that's why you sent me this dress."

  Her Papa chuckled and patted her hand. "I wouldn't miss this for the world. I may be occupied with the stables, but I'm not so oblivious not to figure out w
hy you suddenly married Henry, my dear. Did you think I did not notice Gabriel's resemblance to the Carlyles? Why—he looks exactly like George did during our old days at Oxford!"

  Alexandra gaped at her Papa.

  The orchestra replayed the Wedding March.

  Her Papa led her on the short walk to the altar.

  She met Allayne's eyes as she took her place next to him in front of the Vicar. He squeezed her hand. The urge to box his ears for his audacity was quickly replaced by her inclination to dissolve into tears of happiness. With her heart thumping wildly in her chest, she tried her best not to break into sobs as they said their vows. She would not, would not—turn into a watering pot. But then, Gabriel showed up bearing the rings in his Sunday best, looking happier than she'd seen him, since Henry's passing. Their son bestowed her with that dimpled smile identical to Allayne's—and her resistance vanished into thin air.

  Unmindful of the exclamations and murmurs from the bejeweled guests, Alexandra laughed and cried, picked up her son and kissed him and her husband—the two most important people in her life.

  Epilogue

  One hour later

  At a table on the far end of the reception hall, Lord Bhramby held his quizzing glass against an eye and peered at the approaching gentleman. "Oho! Look who's here!"

  "Ah—Weston! Good to see you again, old chap!" Viscount Rose shook the Earl's hand as he sat across the table from them.

  "Bhramby! Good Lord—is that you?" the Earl exclaimed. "You look as ridiculous as ever."

  "And you're uglier than I remember," Lord Bhramby snorted.

  "Stop bickering, you two," Viscount Rose interjected. "Let's celebrate our success."

  "Do you think the children know that we concocted that scheme in Bath?" the Earl said.